Aftermath
by What I See In The Mirror
Summary: This is a one-shot that is my take on an interesting way to write about Maria Hill, a character whom I feel is underappreciated. This is centered around her thoughts and feelings about the events that transpired, and what happens when she is forced to go to therapy. -(Oh, yes I did.) Includes mentions of Phil Coulson, and a bit of Director Fury. It ends on Natasha's POV. R&R!


Author's Note: This is a one-shot piece that occurred to me as I completed my homework at 5 in the morning and I only got around to writing it now, around 9. I know, I shouldn't procrastinate, especially with Science. But, oh well, I did. If you would like me to extend this, just say so and I will take it under consideration, because I've actually thought of a couple of storylines for it already as an expanded piece... Anyways, read and review!

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Maria sits stiffly on the couch, glaring at the surroundings of the therapist's office she'd been forced to see. The room was, to her utter disbelief and horror, decorated with ivory furniture to match the sickeningly eggshell-white walls and matching carpet. It was... Vomit worthy. She shudders, feeling as though if she'd had any food in her stomach, she'd be painting these walls a different color. The door swings open, and she readies the gaze that was known to make gods quake. (Thor was perfectly acceptable proof of that.)

"Good evening, Miss Hill."

A muscle in her jaw ticks. "Deputy Director Hill," she growls out through clenched teeth.

"In this room, we are _all_ equals, _Miss_ Hill," he replies in a voice so condescending it made her want to wipe that polite smile off of his face. With her foot. And maybe her gun.

She decides to lay her cards out on the table. "Look, we can do this one of two ways. First- you just sign that little waiver claiming I'm mentally competent and able to fully resume my duties, or, I can bullshit my way through all of these sessions until even you can't take the crap coming from my mouth anymore. And trust me, the first option is the easiest. Because even though we're 'equals' in this room, I'm still a trained agent. I know exactly what therapists are. They're just stuffy little diplomas who think they can get information from everyone. But rest assured, Doc, my balls are bigger than yours."

Fury, behind the concealed glass pane, has to stifle his laughter. He feels a part of his pride wither and die as he watches his best agent, known for her calm, steely collectiveness, says that her 'balls' are 'bigger' than Dr. Gandalf's. She was usually so composed, and her threats were less... Forward.

Gandalf ignores the offer. "Let's see, Miss Hill... You were sent to me because you were neglecting your own health in favor of assisting with the cleanup effort."

There it was again, that damned word. Cleanup. As if she had just been skipping out on meals and sleep because she had to file a few papers instead of drag dead bodies through the streets and pray that they would be recognizable to whoever was called to identify them. That she was simply emptying the rubbish bin instead of tugging loose limbs from the piles of carnage trapped beneath the wreckage. She still couldn't get the thought of one little's girl foot she had found, perfectly intact and sandaled, except for the part that it was missing its body. Her fists slowly clench into fists at her sides. "I was doing my duty."

"To others, yes. But what about your duty to yourself?"

"My duty is to the people. I knew that full well when I joined this agency." Her eyes are dark and cold.

"But isn't this taking it to the extremes?"

She glowers. "I like to think I was going above and beyond that call of duty."

"But what makes it your duty? Why do you feel so responsible for this?"

Everyone has a breaking point. Maria just found hers. Leaping to her feet, she snarls at the idiotic little man sitting so calmly before her in the room that was so _pristine_ and_ whole_ that it just made her sick. "Because I am responsible for it!"

"I could have stopped this whole thing if I'd just been faster, or smarter, or stronger! Loki and the Tesseract were right there, and I let them slip right through my fingers! Everything that has happened is on my shoulders! I killed those people, I killed Phil Coulson!"

And goddammit, why was he so fucking serene amidst her tirade?! "He was a god. You weren't pre-"

She cuts him off with a hiss, "I was trained to be ready for any situation! And I caused all of this because I wasn't good enough!"

"But the blame cannot rest solely on your shoulders, because-"

Maria interrupts again. "Because what, huh? I know it's my fault, because I can feel it! I am punished by it every night!"

"Why do you think I haven't been sleeping? It's not that I don't want to, it's that I can't! Because every time I close my eyes I see all the things I could have done to prevent this, and I see all the faces of the people who died and I see how they died, and I see why they died, and it was all because of me!" She shrieks, unleashing all of the feelings she'd been locking away for days.

"I understand," he soothes, and the patronizing gleam in his eyes only serves to infuriate her more.

"No, you don't! I bet you haven't even seen combat!" She shrieks, almost cackling.

"You haven't seen men, good, strong men get plowed down in a war they didn't even want to fight! You haven't seen the battlefield at its worst, when blood runs so freely that you can't see anything but the red! You only see the remnants, the aftermath! And then you have the gall to think you understand, but you don't and you never will! You haven't looked death in the eye and told it to piss off!" Her eyes burn with ice-blue flames, the scorching intensity making Gandalf cringe.

By now, Fury is seconds away from bursting into the room, but something holds him back. He knew she wasn't done yet, not by a long shot.

She yanks out a knife. "This, _this_, is a real weapon."

Maria harshly jabs at the open palm of her left hand, slicing the smooth skin open like butter with the razor-sharp blade. "And this,_ this_, is blood!"

Gandalf is quaking in his seat, covered in the sprays of blood from her violent motion, crimson splotches staining the white décor of the room. She clenches her hand around the knife, and blood drips down to soak his notes. Her voice is low and dangerous when she speaks again. "And this, _this_, is _pain_." Suddenly, she tugs the knife from her fist, spreading more blood across the once-clean surfaces, and hurls it at the floor, where it cuts past the carpet and impales itself upon the wood beneath with a muted thud.

The hurt is sharp, and it burns, but God, it feels like the agony in her heart is finally dulled to a small throb. And it tastes so sweet, like water does when you've wandered for days without it. Blessed relief flows through her veins and she storms away, out the door and down the newly repaired halls. She walks with a renewed vigor, her wounded hand still fisted, nails digging deeper and deeper into the most severe cut that leaves a trail of blood in her wake.

It's the deepest cut which makes her feel alive again. It's the fierce ache in her hand that finally takes her mind off of the guilt tormenting her soul. It's this, the physical injury, that makes her inner pain finally halt, if only for a brief amount of time.

"Hill!" A loud bark slows her steps, but she doesn't halt. Not even close to a stop, she continues on her way, steadily ignoring the curses falling from the Director's mouth as she walks ahead.

A hand grabs her shoulder, efficiently preventing her from leaving. "Maria."

She turns, spine straightening. "Director Fury."

His hand falls from her shoulder to clasp her wrist firmly. Forcibly turning over her hand to reveal her copiously bleeding palm, he pulls it close for inspection. "What the hell was that, Hill?"

"What, sir?" Damn, she should've known he'd be watching.

"I saw what went on in there. I was supposed to monitor your first session."

She twitches, and his hand only grips her wrist tighter. "You think what happened was your fault?"

By now, the raised voices and blood-streaked floors has nicely cleared away all prying agents who didn't want to suffer both Fury and Hill's wrath. "It was." She drops all pretense of formality. There was nothing in the regulations booklet about this.

"You need to listen to me when I tell you it wasn't. There was nothing you could have done to stop Loki back there."

"How do you know that?" She retorts, bitterness lacing her tone.

"How do you?" He tosses back with a gentleness that rarely, if ever, was displayed.

And the last bit of the shield she'd spent the last few weeks building and reinforcing, crumbles. Her impervious façade cracks, and tears fill her eyes. She tries to pull away once more, in vain, because instead of letting her go, he draws her close, into his embrace. Collapsing against him, she weeps, tears streaming down her cheeks and soaking into his uniform faster and faster as the flow of blood from her cuts slows. "It has to be my fault... I could have stopped him," she whimpers, her uninjured hand clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

"No, you couldn't have. And I doubt anyone could have, either. We are all to blame. You aren't alone."

And neither of them realize that they are being watched. Observed by a former Russian agent who stands, stock-still, in a side corridor, crying as well. Because she finally sees how much everyone finds themselves at fault, and that it wasn't just herself. Maybe now, they could share the load and survive it. Maybe now they could finally begin to heal. All of them... Together.

The aftermath had left them shattered, but even people as broken as them had hope of being put back together. Who knows, maybe Humpty Dumpty could be put back together again, maybe they all could. Maybe it didn't take all the King's horses and all the King's men, but only the right set of hands to carefully piece together the fragments of broken hearts and souls and forge something even better from the ashes of destruction.

It would be a long process, and it would take time, but it could be done. It would take, not weeks, but months, maybe years, but all that mattered was that it would happen. People would get hurt along the way, as broken glass always stabbed the hands that tried to fix it, but Natasha had a feeling that there were more than enough people to help bandage each others' wounds and kiss their scrapes. Look at herself. She had been a spider, saved by its natural predator- the hawk. She had been a killer, and now she was an Avenger. She had been alone, but now she had a family. She hadn't believed in love, but now it was the one thing she was sure of. Life was all about the contradictions, and she was living proof.

There had been once a time where gods were only myths, and aliens were funny green men from Mars. There had been a time where the only suits of iron that existed were for knights of kingdoms past. There had been a time where giant, green, rage monsters had only appeared in comics. There had been a time when super-soldiers were science-fiction. There had been a time where the lines between good and evil were clear and grey had no place in the world. There had been a time where Earth had considered itself alone. But now was the time where all of that, all of those beliefs and concepts, were replaced with something new. Something better. This was the dawn of a new era, a time where beings once thought of as fairy tales were the modern heroes of society. This was the beginning of something that would change everything. After all, in a world where gods and monsters really did exist, anything could happen. Anything at all.


End file.
